


The Angel in the Basement

by bexxie176



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Castiel, Castiel Whump, Dark Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 07, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexxie176/pseuds/bexxie176
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime between 7x11 and 7x17, Sam and Dean run into Emmanuel in a bar. He remembers nothing of why exactly Sam and Dean look like they want to kill him. (Or, in Dean's case, fuck him.) He ends up chained up in a basement to have a friendly chat with Dean. Only Dean isn't ever going to let him leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dean is kinda bipolar because he’s torn between being in love with Cas and furious with him for all he’s done. Also majorly jealous, because Emmanuel is in love with Daphne and doesn't give two shits about Dean. At first.  
> This is my first fic. I would really appreciate any feedback anyone is willing to give.

Emmanuel is a simple man. He doesn’t remember anything beyond about two weeks ago, but he does know two things. First, Daphne has saved him and he loves her more than he can imagine. Second, there is a deep sorrow within his heart for no discernible reason. And so, despite Daphne’s protests, he’s at a bar. A thought comes into his head, unbidden. _I found a liquor store and I drank it._ He laughs to himself.

He’s only slightly tipsy by the time he notices the two men in the corner. They’re staring at him, and look like they have been for a while now. He feels uncomfortable enough to put his glass down. The shorter one makes eye contact and heads over toward him. The tall one follows a few steps behind. They both look absolutely furious. He tries to figure out if he knows them, but draws a blank.

“The _hell_ , Cas!” the shorter one practically screams at him.

“Excuse me?” Emmanuel replies, confused.

“ _Excuse you?_ If I remember correctly, the last time we met you broke Sam’s head, you tried to make me bow down to you, you pissed off Death, and you got devoured by Leviathans.”

Each word was punctuated with a rap on the table. The man’s eyes were flashing darker and darker. Emmanuel was at this point legitimately scared.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

The two men share a look.

“Dean. It’s not him. He’s not this good of a liar,” the tall one – presumably Sam – says.

“All right then. If you’re not Cas, then you’re going to get up from this bar, nice and civilized, and come have a chat with us about what exactly you are. Or we can do this the not-civilized way. Your choice.”

Is he being kidnapped? What do these men want?

“Up,” Dean says. Angrily.

Emmanuel stands up and allows himself to be led out of the bar. He doesn’t want to, per se, but Dean has a look in his eyes that says Emmanuel will end up coming with him one way or another. He’s being manhandled a little roughly for someone being “nice and civilized”, and the iron cuffs Dean snaps on don’t seem fair at all. He’s being steered towards the trunk – _the trunk!_ – when Sam opens the door of the backseat and gives Dean a look. Small mercies.

The drive is uncomfortably long and neither one will talk to him. He has no idea what they want, why they want him, or whether or not he did something in his pre-amnesia life to cause this. If so, he’s thankful for the amnesia: his life expectancy with a crowd like this couldn’t be long.

Eventually, they arrive at a secluded cabin in the woods. With his hands cuffed on such uneven ground, he’s stumbling every step. Wordlessly, Sam picks him up and carries him over his shoulder. He’s carried into a basement with pagan symbols carved literally everywhere. There’s a tall chair in the center of the room covered in the same symbols. Unsurprisingly, he gets dumped into the chair. Even less surprisingly, within about thirty seconds he’s been cuffed to it so many times he can barely move a muscle. What’s more, he’s sitting so high he can’t touch the ground.

“Really?” he asks.

“Shut it or I’ll Borax your face off.”

Emmanuel doesn’t even want to ask.

As if the day wasn’t strange enough, they make him take a shot of saltwater, pour cleaning fluid on him, and make a small cut on his arm. He hopes he isn’t becoming part of a devil-worshipping ritual.

“Not a demon. Not a shifter. Not a Leviathan. And not Cas. So who the hell is he?”

Demons. Leviathans. So this probably is a devil-worshipping thing then.

Emmanuel doesn’t want to know the answer, but asks anyways. “Are you going to kill me?”

Dean considers this for a moment. “Probably not,” he replies. This should make Emmanuel feel better, but it really doesn’t.

Sam and Dean share a look and leave the room, leaving Emmanuel alone with his thoughts. It’s almost funny how boring his kidnapping, and likely death, are. He thinks about Daphne, about his new life at her home, and misses her. _I should never have gone drinking._ He mentally apologizes to her for whatever she’s going through right now. He wants nothing more than to be away from this place and beside her.

After an amount of time that feels like hours but is probably ten minutes, Dean returns. Without Sam. If it’s possible, he looks even angrier than before.

“I don’t know what kind of monster you are, but they all have weaknesses. And I’m going to have a lot of fun figuring yours out,” he says. “Cas would be scared right now, because he knows who I learned from. _But you’re not Cas._ So I have to teach you myself.”

“I thought we agreed to have a chat,” Emmanuel says. Through some miracle, he keeps his voice steady and even.

“Sammy wanted to. Sammy is also currently locked in Rufus’ bedroom. And handcuffed to a radiator.”

The idea that Dean could take out Sam, who must have had four inches and a lot of muscle on Dean, is mildly terrifying. The idea that Dean _would_ take out Sam, just to see Emmanuel alone, is much more terrifying. Emmanuel is starting to regret going quietly. Maybe he would have been taken anyways, but he might have managed to send an SOS to the bartender first.

Dean picks up a knife and slices through Emmanuel’s shirt carefully. It falls to the ground in tatters.

“That had buttons, you know,” Emmanuel says.

Dean actually laughs for a second, but then his face steels again. And the look on his face when he laughs! Emmanuel makes a mental note to make sure it happens again.

Dean is looking at him strangely now.

“We’re going to try a test,” he says. Emmanuel notes that Dean says “we”. He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

He picks the knife back up.

“This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

Emmanuel wonders what the hell happened to take Dean from being about to torture him to being almost kind.

The knife slices into him. He feels blood welling up on his chest.

“Can you heal it?”

And that’s when the penny drops. Emmanuel realises he should have figured out what was going on from the first time they called him Cas. Who else would know that he has some sort of magic healing ability?

“Was I Cas?”

“What?” Dean looks confused. Another adorable look. Emmanuel adds it to his mental catalogue.

“I have amnesia. I don’t remember anything from before two weeks ago.”

“Would have been nice if you could have _said_ that!”

“I tried. You wouldn’t let me talk.”

Dean considers this for a moment. “You’re right. Sorry. Questions first, knife later.”

Emmanuel focuses on his chest, and feels the wound knitting together. It seals up as if it had never been.

“You’re an angel,” Dean says matter-of-factly.

“Are you flirting with me?” Emmanuel asks.

Dean laughs again. “Only if you want me to be,” he replies, grinning. “Your name is Castiel. You are an angel. Heaven is real, and you usually live there. But it kind of sucks. You absorbed a lot of – energy – and it sort of exploded out of you. We thought you were dead.”

“And when you discovered I wasn’t, your plan was to _fix_ that?”

“I thought – never mind. You’re not. You’re just you. Without your memory, but we can fix that.”

Dean’s eyes are soft now, all hint of earlier rage completely dissipated.

“Are you going to let me go?” Emmanuel asks.

“ _Hell_ no! Do you know what you did the last time I let you out of my sight? You’re staying right here until you know who you are.”

Emmanuel figures now that Dean is opening up, he might be taken by an emotional plea. “But Daphne doesn’t know where I am. She’ll be panicking.”

The hardness is back in Dean’s eyes. His changing moods are giving Emmanuel whiplash.

“Daphne?”

“She found me naked and helpless in the woods. She took me home, took care of me. We love each other.”

He knows without even looking at Dean that this was the wrong thing to say.

“You _love_ each other?”

And then the knife is back, and it’s cutting away his pants and boxers. And Emmanuel is reminded of just how chained-to-a-chair he is. The knife dances over his skin, nicking it here and there in patterns and swirls that heal almost as soon as they are formed.

“You. Do. Not. Love. Anybody. Else.”

Emmanuel isn’t sure whether Dean is about to hurt him or have sex with him. He thinks for a moment, and decides he’d prefer pain.

“If you want me to love you, stabbing me isn’t helping.”

The next thing Dean says chills Emmanuel to the bone.

“Trust me, you’ll love me when I’m done. I’m _very_ good.”

Dean pauses for a beat.

“And even if you don’t, Cas will forgive me. He always does.”


	2. 2

Emmanuel is covered in blood. His entire body is sore. He hurts in places he didn’t realise existed. He feels just a little bit broken. _What could I have done to make somebody do that to me? Who was I?_

Suddenly, mercifully, he sees Sam standing in front of him. There’s a radiator dangling off his wrist.

“A _radiator_ , dude? Seriously?”

Dean shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“Obviously not,” Sam replies, gesturing to himself. “You gonna give me the key, or do I have to take it from you?”

Dean tosses Sam a key. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam sets the radiator down. “You’re going to have to put this back in. And fix the wall. And maybe the rest of the room.”

Dean shrugs. “While you were busy being He-Man, I got information out of not-Cas here.”

For the first time, Sam looks at Emmanuel. Sees the blood, the bruising that he lacks the energy to heal, the handful of knife marks running up and down his chest.

“He came here semi-willingly. He was going to talk anyways,” Sam says.

“He did. This was payback,” Dean replies.

Sam walks over to Dean and confiscates the knife. “I swear to... Bobby. Do that one more time, I’ll chain _you_ to a radiator.”

Emmanuel tries not to say anything. All that, and Dean gets off with a warning?

“Anyways. Cas lost his memory after the thing at the lake. He was found by some chick who Stockholmed him. He wants to let her know _where he is_.” The words are said mockingly, cruelly.

Sam laughs. “Did you seriously just torture not-Cas because he doesn’t want to bone you anymore?”

Dean turns bright red and doesn’t say anything.

Sam turns towards Emmanuel. “Care to share your side of the story?”

“I woke up in the woods with no memory several months ago. Daphne found me and nursed me back to health. I fell in love with her. She doesn’t know what’s happening. I just want to go back,” he says.

“Naked,” Dean adds.

“Excuse me?” Emmanuel asks.

“You said you were naked when she found you.”

Sam laughs again. “Dude. Stop with the jealousy.”

“Speaking of naked, may I please have some clothing?” Emmanuel asks. “Dean... removed mine.”

“I’ll bet,” Sam smirked. “Dean. With me. I don’t trust you alone with him.”

And so Sam and Dean leave the room. Emmanuel tries to collapse, but is held too tightly. He settles for closing his eyes and thinking of happier places.

When they return, it’s not with clothing, but a massive blanket.

“I’m going to need to run some tests, so it’s probably simpler if I don’t have to shred your clothing every few hours,” Sam says earnestly.

“You could unchain me?” Emmanuel asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Dean’s eyes are piercing. “I said, _hell no_. You stay. Chains stay.”

Emmanuel waits for Sam to tell Dean to back down, but he doesn’t.

“Do you need food, or water, or anything?” Sam asks.

“No,” Emmanuel replies.

“So let me get this straight. You lived with Stockholm for _months_ , and never _once_ got concerned about not needing to eat or sleep or shit?” Dean asks, skeptical.

“I assumed it had something to do with my healing abilities. We both thought it was a gift from God.”

“Not far off, actually,” Sam says. “If you don’t need anything right now, I think we should let you rest. Sorry about Dean.”

And they’re off again. Emmanuel hears them talking upstairs, but can’t quite make out what they’re saying. He hears a few words – “angel”, “hurt”, a question about what the hell to do with the angel in the basement, and finally Sam exploding loudly enough that Emmanuel can make out every word clearly.

“Dean! He’s not Cas! We can try to make him Cas again, but I don’t know how. But whether or not Cas deserves what you’re doing to him, this guy doesn’t! Leave him alone! Stop hurting him, stop taunting him, and for fuck’s sake, stop _flirting_ with him. He’s taken. And it’s creeping me out.”

Dean’s reply, equally furious. “He is mine, and I will do whatever I want with him. After what he tried – don’t you think it’s only fair the tables were turned?”

“It’s not him!” Sam yells. “Get it through your head. This man is not Castiel. We don’t even know his name. But he’s not your angel.”

“Well, accepting that Cas is mine. That’s a start,” Dean replies. “Soon you’ll realise this one is too. I’m going to go back down for round two. Are you going to try to stop me?”

“I have the knife and you don’t,” Sam replies.

“And I’m better at taking a beating than you are at hurting your brother. Are you going to try to stop me?”

“Dean. Don’t do something you’re going to regret. Just... don’t.”

“Is that a no?”

“If you care about Cas at all, don’t do this.” Sam sounds defeated.

“That’s a no then. We should probably soundproof the basement.”

And Dean is back, back with the knife, and Emmanuel is trying not to cry.

“So. Where were we?”


	3. 3

Emmanuel is panicking just a little bit. “If there’s any information you want – anything I can do – just – please don’t,” he begs.

“We’re a bit past _information_. You told me all I needed,” Dean says.

The blanket is tossed aside and Dean is back at work. Emmanuel is exhausted, so he’s barely healing at all. This time, the patterns of the knife stay. It would look like a beautiful masterpiece if it wasn’t currently being _carved into his skin_. Emmanuel doesn’t even want to know how Dean is this talented. He tries not to think about the poor people he must have practiced on.

The pain is overwhelming. Every time Emmanuel thinks it can’t get worse, Dean makes another cut and he realises _he was so wrong_.

Emmanuel tries to figure out what he can do to make Dean stop. He tries to think – too sluggish, his mind molasses – to understand what the goal of this session is. Give Dean what he wants, and this will be over. What does Dean want? Dean wants him. God knows why, but this is some sort of punishment for choosing Daphne.

Pain or sex? Pain or sex?

Emmanuel still chooses pain. He’s doing this for Daphne’s sake now, which makes it easier. He can’t handle this, not exactly, but he’ll hold out as long as he can for her.

“You’re tough, angel,” Dean says, a hint of admiration in his voice. It’s the first time he’s spoken since this started. “Unluckily for you, this was just the warmup. You done yet, or should I keep going?”

Several things flash through Emmanuel’s mind.

 _That was just the warmup. It’s going to get worse._ He doesn’t see how that’s possible, but by now he has faith in Dean’s abilities.

_I can be done. I can make this stop. Please, make this stop._

_I didn’t break. Why is he done?_

Dean has paused with the knife. Emmanuel thinks about his answer.

“What do you want?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t answer. He leaves the room for a minute, and comes back with a washcloth. Slowly, he wipes Emmanuel down, getting rid of the blood caked on his skin.

Emmanuel is confused. Why is Dean helping him? Dean is the person who hurt him in the first place. And how can this possibly feel good? It’s stinging every cut on his skin, and yet he wants nothing more than to relax into the warm water.

When Emmanuel is clean, Dean dries him off and replaces the blanket. He tucks Emmanuel in as if he were a little kid.

Dean’s got another look on his face. _Protective?_ Like it’s his job to take care of Emmanuel. But that doesn’t make any sense. Dean just spent an hour torturing him.

Either way, it’s another good look. And Emmanuel would rather be confused than tortured, so he accepts it.

“You should probably sleep. It’ll help you heal,” Dean says.

Emmanuel can’t find anything wrong with that idea, so he does.


	4. 4

Emmanuel wakes up feeling mostly fresh and refreshed. He can’t feel any of the cuts from yesterday, so assumes they must have actually healed in his sleep. Neither Sam nor Dean are present, so Emmanuel feels largely safe for now.

He takes the chance to get a proper look around the room. It’s covered in pagan symbols painted all through the room. Some of them look like they have been made in blood. The walls are smooth and the corners rounded – nothing, Emmanuel notes, with a sharp edge. There’s a cheap plastic drain in the ground a few feet away from him. Aside from the drain, a single light embedded in the ceiling, and Emmanuel’s chair, there’s no furniture. Even if he could get loose from the chair, there would be no way to even escape the basement, let alone the house.

He decides to start with step one – the chair. He may be fresh and refreshed from the beating yesterday, but he’s also sore and stiff and hasn’t moved in at least a day. Dean has been clear that he won’t be leaving the chair, so Emmanuel’s only hope is to escape it himself.

He takes inventory of his bindings. His wrists are still chained behind his back; there are at least five different shackles on each arm and leg connecting him to his prison (overkill maybe?); the chair itself is sturdy and bolted to the floor; and finally, there’s the blanket that Dean has tucked around him.

He thinks back to the ridiculous amount of ways he is connected to the chair. Dean and Sam seem to know exactly what they are doing, so maybe this serves a purpose for its own sake. They’re digging into his flesh uncomfortably, so Sam wouldn’t allow them unless they were necessary.

When he adds all this up, he decides that he must be very powerful.

Though he’s proud of himself for his deduction, it doesn’t get him any closer to an escape plan. He may be powerful, but he doesn’t know what he’s capable of or how to take advantage of it.

He lets out a disappointed sigh and looks down at the floor – not to check the symbols like last time, but to have something to stare at. Now that he’s decided he can’t escape, there’s literally nothing to do besides count seconds.

After ten minutes, he decides he can’t take it anymore. “Sam? Dean? Can you please let me out?”

He’s not very loud, but he figures they must have a camera or something on him to stop escape attempts. Sure enough, Dean comes down less than ten seconds later.

“The Cas I knew once stood for four hours in the same spot because I told him to come back after I got some sleep,” Dean says.

“I thought we established that I am not the Cas you knew.”

“You’re practically human. You even _slept_ last night. Angels don’t sleep.” Dean sounds incredulous.

Emmanuel tries to shrug, forgetting the chains. “It was good.”

“Feeling better?”

Emmanuel thinks for a second. Should he be honest, or should he try not to upset the man holding him captive?

“I could use a stretch,” he admits.

Dean snorts. “No.”

“I don’t think I can heal stiffness,” he says.

There’s a strange glint in Dean’s eye, and though he’s keeping a stoic expression, Emmanuel can tell that he’s trying not to laugh.

“Tough.”

Emmanuel looks him in the eye. Dean stares for a second, and then breaks eye contact. He heads towards the stairs.

“Dean. _Please._ ”

But Dean doesn’t listen, and Emmanuel is left to count the seconds again.

To Emmanuel’s surprise, Dean is back about ten minutes later with Sam. They’re carrying a small bed down the stairs. They place it up against the wall. Dean applies some sort of substance to the bottom of the legs, presumably to keep the bed in place. Sam heads over to Cas. “I know you’re mad at Dean, but see if you can manage to make it to the bed without hurting anybody. I’m going to take the chains off for a minute.”

When Emmanuel tries to stand up, his legs both fall asleep and he nearly collapses. Sam chuckles and picks him up again, putting him down on the bed. It’s not comfortable, but it’s much better than the chair was.

Emmanuel would think about fighting, but his body isn’t really working and it would probably get him sent back to the chair.

“Arms up,” Sam says. Emmanuel complies, stretching up to the head of the bed. Sam snaps on a pair of handcuffs to each wrist. Interestingly, he only uses one per wrist. The same is done with his ankles. Sam is left holding about twenty pairs, which he brings somewhere upstairs, leaving Dean in the room.

“Is this better?” Dean asks.

“Much. Thank you,” Emmanuel replies.

Dean spreads the blanket out over him.

“You don’t get to leave. But that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable,” Dean says.

Emmanuel holds in a laugh. This is the man who tortured him yesterday.

Then again, aside from that, Dean has been trying to make this easier. Hasn’t he? He let Emmanuel sleep. And he got the bed. And Dean really is looking out for him. Dean obviously cares about Cas – and by extension Emmanuel – a lot. So maybe Dean isn’t so bad.

“Sammy and I are going to do some research. We’ll be back down when we want to try something. If you can sleep some more, it might not be a bad idea.”

And Dean leaves him again.

It’s only 742 seconds later that Emmanuel slips into a contented sleep.


	5. 5

When Sam comes back, it’s without Dean. Emmanuel groggily mumbles a hello and tries to sit up before he remembers he can’t. He collapses back down onto the bed.

“We’ve got nothing,” Sam says. “There’s so little information on angels, and none have ever suffered Leviathan-induced amnesia before.”

“Tell me then,” Emmanuel says. “Maybe I’ll get my memory back if you tell me what I was doing when I lost it.”

“Um. You took all the souls of Purgatory into you, but the Leviathans were strong. They basically took over your body, claimed to have erased your mind, and jumped into a lake to enter the sewer system. We thought you were dead.”

“Purgatory? Leviathans?”

Sam smiled sadly. “I forgot you don’t know now. I guess I should start at the beginning?”

Emmanuel nods. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sam Winchester. Dean and I were raised as hunters. That means we find supernatural beings that are killing people, and we kill them. It’s what I’ve been doing for my entire life. For the last maybe seven years, Dean and I have been on the road together, travelling through America, eating fast food and staying in shitty motels, hunting monsters.”

“Am I a monster?” Emmanuel asks.

“I’ll get to that. So, there are everyday monsters like ghosts, rugarus, wendigos, vampires. But there are also demons. They come from Hell. Which is also real. They’re evil, and more importantly they’re organized. We killed basically everybody important, so there was a power struggle and now a guy called Crowley is in charge. He’s an amazing salesman and has a bad habit of convincing you that teaming up with him is a good idea.”

Emmanuel can guess where this is going.

“There’s a type of demon called a crossroads demon that can trade your soul for anything you want. My dad died trading his life and soul for Dean’s life, and Dean died trading his soul and his life in one year’s time for my life after I died.”

“Dean died?”

“Dean died and went to hell. He was on the rack for thirty years before he switched to torturing others. It’s not his fault. Hell breaks everybody. He was doing that for ten years before you rescued him.”

“How could he spend forty years in Hell? He looks barely over thirty.”

“Time moves differently there. It was four months up here.”

Emmanuel nods. None of this makes the slightest bit of sense, but he wants to hear the rest.

“Your garrison busted into Hell and broke him out. It cost a lot of lives. You marked him when you pulled him out. There’s a handprint on his shoulder.”

“My garrison?”

“Angels are mostly warriors. They have no free will and follow their superiors’ orders. You were a member of the Heavenly Host. Like Dean said, angels mostly suck. You’re different.”

“Why?” Emmanuel asks.

“Dean,” Sam replies simply. “He changed you. He made you disobey commands. He made you choose humanity over the Apocalypse. You nearly died saving his life.”

There is so much that he wants to ask, but he settles for finishing the story. “Apocalypse?”

“The Apocalypse was supposed to be a fight between Michael and Lucifer. It starting was kind of our fault, but the angels forced our hand. Dean and I were supposed to be the vessels of Michael and Lucifer – angels need vessels to inhabit on Earth, so do demons, but angels need permission first – but Dean and I didn’t want to. They tried to convince us. They might need permission, but permission can be coerced. But with your help, we locked Lucifer, Michael, and my soul in a cage together and the Apocalypse was averted.”

“Your _soul._ ”

“It’s complicated. I got it back. But here’s the problem. After that, Heaven was disorganized. There was a civil war. You were up against an archangel and you were going to lose. Remember I told you about Crowley?”

Emmanuel nods.

“Well, you made a deal with him. You would both bust the souls out of Purgatory and basically swallow half of them each to become more powerful to win your respective civil wars. To become the rulers of Heaven and Hell.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t a monster?”

Sam laughs. “No. You were. But not for long. And I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Emmanuel replies, and means it.

“We were all suspicious of you. Dean was the only one who trusted you. And then we found out you were working with Crowley – and everything sort of shattered. You backstabbed Crowley, absorbed the souls, and claimed to be God. When we tried to stop you, you ordered us all to bow to you. You broke my mind as punishment for trying to kill you. You went power-crazy and started killing everybody you didn’t like. And then the Leviathans, which are strong souls you had absorbed, took over.”

“I’m happy I don’t remember. To betray somebody’s trust like that,” Emmanuel trails off.

“But you don’t remember Dean. It’s breaking him.”

“Did I love him?”

“It’s complicated. I think you did.”

“Did he love me?”

“He pretended not to. Not that anybody bought it.”

One last thing occurs to Emmanuel.

“I broke your mind? What does that mean?”

“Well, Lucifer’s been shooting ping pong balls off my forehead for the past ten minutes.”

Emmanuel doesn’t even want to ask.

He may not remember a thing of what Sam explained, but it feels somehow right. Crushing guilt rolls through him. _What have I done?_ He wonders if there’s any way to fix things. To make it right. To apologize to Dean.


	6. 6

Dean hasn’t come back for hours, and Emmanuel is starting to feel lonely. So when he hears footsteps, he perks up a little. Even if this is another torture session, it’s human contact. It’s _Dean._

“Miss me, angel?”

Emmanuel doesn’t even try for snark. He just nods.

“Poor guy. I’d give you a hug, but those are for family, and you said we weren’t.”

Replies flash through Emmanuel’s head.

_Do you normally want to have sex with your family?_

_Can you stop blaming me for things we’ve established I don’t remember?_

_Did you literally come downstairs just to bother me?_

But he remembers what Sam told him. This is his fault. He didn’t just break Sam, he broke Dean.

So with a sigh, Emmanuel replies “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

He doesn’t know what Dean was expecting (probably responses one through three), but this was not it. Green eyes light up in surprise. Emmanuel adds this to his catalogue of Dean’s expressions.

“Yeah. Well. Wish you could have said that at the time.”

Emmanuel thinks he knows Dean by now, just a little, and knows that he isn’t really angry anymore – he just doesn’t want to let Emmanuel off the hook.

“I wish I could remember,” Emmanuel says.

“Finally figured out that Daphne isn’t the most important thing in your life?”

_No_ , says his mind.

“Yes” says his mouth.

And then his mouth is otherwise occupied.

It takes Emmanuel a few seconds to understand what on earth is going on. He opens his mouth in protest to be met with a _tongue_. A tongue that isn’t Daphne’s. And he can’t breathe, and he’s starting to hyperventilate, and he’s still unable to move or fight back, and he’s not sure Dean even knows he’s trying.

“I should have done that a long time ago,” Dean says casually.

Emmanuel waits until Dean leaves to throw up. He doesn’t want Dean to watch.

He cares about Dean. He really does. (He probably shouldn’t, but that’s a different matter.) He feels horrible about whatever his other-self had done. More importantly, he owes this to Dean. If he broke Dean, and this is what it takes to put him back together, then Emmanuel can deal with a hundred kisses.

Besides, in spite of the total lack of air, Dean’s not a bad kisser.


	7. 7

Dean is back, the next morning.

“Miss me?” he asks.

Emmanuel nods again, sinking back into his pillow.

Dean sounds concerned now. “You okay?”

Another nod.

“Sam and I are going to try something. I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt. Angels are able to carve sigils into themselves and activate them, and there’s one we think might work on you.”

“Not Sam,” Emmanuel mumbles.

“Huh?” Dean asks, confused.

“Don’t make him. You can do it fine on your own.”

“Fine,” Dean says, sounding a little annoyed. “I’m going to flip you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

_I don’t have the energy to do anything, stupid or not._

Emmanuel feels the chains leave his wrists and ankles. Dean rolls him over onto his stomach and replaces them. It’s nice to be in a slightly different position, and Emmanuel tries to stretch his tense muscles.

Something appears in his mouth. A rag. “Bite down on this. It’ll help.”

And Dean begins to carve.

It’s not like last time. Last time, he could feel the anger with every stroke, with every minute. It was calculated to cause pain. This time, he feels caring. He doesn’t understand how he can connect _caring_ with _carving_. But he sinks into the knife as easily as he sunk into the water. It may hurt, but it’s a good sort of hurt.

“All done,” says Dean eventually. He unchains Emmanuel’s left arm and pulls it towards his back. Emmanuel feels hot, wet blood under his fingers, but nothing happens.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Emmanuel asks.

“Yes,” Dean admits. “You can heal now.”

The disappointment rings in his voice, and Emmanuel actually feels bad about this not working. Like it’s his fault somehow.

“Sorry, Dean,” he mumbles.

Dean laughs sadly. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry. We’ll try something else.”

Emmanuel focuses on his back and feels the gashes close over, the blood vanishing. It drains what little energy he had. He collapses into the pillow with a groan.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, concerned. Emmanuel wishes he could see the look on his face – his collection could use another – but can’t get the energy to look up. He just groans again.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder. Emmanuel tenses up, starts to panic, but Dean pushes him back down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Dean says, as if it’s obvious. As if that isn’t what he’s been doing for the last who knows how long. “This will help.” He presses into Emmanuel’s back slowly, hitting at least three different knots. It feels soothing. Emmanuel starts to arch upwards towards Dean, but Dean pushes him down again. For half an hour, Dean massages Emmanuel’s back, working out the tension from a week ( _more?_ )  of captivity.

Emmanuel is beginning to feel drowsy, and tries to speak, only to be interrupted by Dean. “Shh. Just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

So Emmanuel relaxes into his pillow and drifts off, thinking, _I hope Dean is still here when I wake up_.


	8. 8

Emmanuel dreams for the first time that night. He dreams of sparkling green eyes and a cocky smile. He dreams of a warm, wet washcloth that washes the pain away. He dreams of strong hands on his back straightening kinks and easing knots. He dreams of a kiss. Only this time, he kisses back.

 

When he wakes up, Dean is there, smiling.

“Morning, angel,” he says.

“Morning, Dean,” Emmanuel replies.

He realises he’s on his back again – Dean must have moved him in his sleep. He wonders how on earth he didn’t wake up.

“Sammy and I are all out of ideas for now, so I was thinking maybe you and me could watch a movie or something. You could probably use something to do.”

Emmanuel nods so hard he nearly cracks his neck.

“Any preferences?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never watched any movies.”

“I know, dude. Believe me, I know. Let’s go with a classic, then.”

Dean leaves for a minute, and comes back with a laptop and a _Back to the Future_ DVD.

“I have _lived_ this. Like, three times,” Dean says, laughing. “You sent me to the past once.”

“Why?” Emmanuel asks.

“A rogue angel wanted to prevent the apocalypse by stopping me from ever being born. Team Free Will decided that I should be born. So you sent me and Sam to go battle an angel for Mom and Dad’s lives.”

Emmanuel smiles. “Team Free Will sounds nice.”

“It was,” replies Dean. His words cut straight through Emmanuel’s heart. There’s an awkward silence for thirty seconds.

“So, how are we going to watch? Will you let me up?”

“Funny, angel. No. I’ll unchain your right side, you move over, and I’ll lie down beside you?”

Emmanuel nods.

Dean removes two pairs of handcuffs, and Emmanuel dutifully shifts over to give Dean space. Dean lies down on the other side of the bed. There’s not enough space for two, so he ends up being sort of squished up against Emmanuel and Emmanuel ends up being completely okay with that.

“You try something stupid, you go back in the chair,” Dean warns, but both of them know that he won’t.

The movie starts, and for two hours, Emmanuel can forget that he’s chained to a bed. It’s just him and Dean. (The movie’s pretty good too.)

“As first dates go, this is one of my better ones,” Dean says.

“What, you don’t chain most of your dates to a bed?”

“On a first date? Only if I’m very, very lucky.”

Dean leans in towards Emmanuel and gives a short kiss.

“I’ll be back if I figure out anything, okay?”

Emmanuel doesn’t mean to, but he lets out a little whine.

“Missing me before I’m even gone. That’s a first, even for you.”

There’s nothing Emmanuel can really say to that.

“Arm up,” Dean says, and Emmanuel had been hoping he’d forget. Dean sees it in his eyes. “You think I’d forget? Can’t have you running off on me. You already broke everything once.”

Emmanuel sighs, and places his arm back over his head to feel the chain around his wrist once more. He offers his ankle for the same.

“You’re getting better at this,” Dean says.

_Not like I have anything else to do here._

“Tell you what. If I’ve got nothing in an hour, I’ll be back for the second movie. It’s a trilogy, did you know?”

Emmanuel didn’t know.

“See you in an hour, then,” Emmanuel replies.

“Ass!”

“I feel like that should be my line,” he laughs. “Almost. It’s a little off.”

Dean is looking at him strangely. “Date two is off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody has any suggestions with where to go from here, please let me know. I have a general plan with where I'm ending up, but I'm getting stuck on the details.


	9. 9

Sam and Dean are crowding around him, talking excitedly about whatever has just happened.

“He’s got it. Not much. But he remembered – a – hint of a ghost of something. There’s hope. It’s all in there somewhere.”

“What prompted it?” Sam asks analytically.

“I called him an ass. He said that should be his line, but it was a little off.”

“Stull Cemetery.”

“Yeah.”

“And literally nobody would ever say that other than Cas. So it can’t just be a fluke.”

Dean nods.

“Any idea what made him remember?”

“Could be the movie. Could be that I told him about Team Free Will. Could be random.”

“Could be date night?”

“Shut up,” Dean replies.

“No, I’m serious. Physical proximity with you might bring his memory back. Profound bond and all that.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then nods.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Sam smirks. “I think I’ll go on a supply run.”

Dean reaches over to Emmanuel’s ankle to take off the cuff. Unbelievably, he does this with both ankles, and then both wrists.

“Why?” Emmanuel asks.

“Want you to be comfortable,” Dean shrugs.

Despite the fact that Dean is not really a bad guy, and that Emmanuel is really starting to like him (against all better judgement), Emmanuel knows he has to spend the movie looking for a chance to escape. Dean’s got his guard way down now, and might not again for a while if the movie doesn’t work and somehow trigger total memory recall.

Sure enough, within half an hour, Dean is relaxing into the pillow and his eyes are sometimes closing a little longer than necessary.

Eventually, Emmanuel spots his chance. Dean’s not asleep, but not fully awake either. It’s taken him five minutes to slowly ease the cuffs out from under Dean’s pillow, but he’s holding them now. He snaps one end onto the bedframe, waits a minute, and then the other onto Dean’s wrist while shoving the blanket into his mouth.

Dean wakes up properly with a start. He tries to say something, but is totally muffled by the blanket. He tries to pull it out with his free hand, but Emmanuel straddles him to keep it in place. Reaching around, he grabs the second pair of cuffs and drags Dean’s other wrist to the headboard. Unfortunately, by the time Dean’s ankles are secured, he’s managed to spit out the blanket.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Leaving. I have a life. I would like to return to it.”

“Do you know who we are? If you don’t let me go _right now_ , I will find you and you will regret it.”

“Maybe one day, but today you’re my little bitch.”

Dean’s eyes open wide, as if there’s something about those words that matters.

Emmanuel places the blanket back into Dean’s mouth, and this time ties it in place.

“If you find me again, please remember that I could torture you as you tortured me, and yet I chose not to.”

Dean doesn’t ( _can’t_ ) say anything, just glares.

Emmanuel walks up the stairs, through the door, and into the main room. He grabs some clothing that had been left strewn around and tries it on. It’s a bad fit but it’ll do. Seeing a phone on the table, he grabs it. He _should_ just call 911, but it would be too much to explain, and he doesn’t actually want Sam and Dean going to jail, so he instead just looks up where he is on a map.

Middle of nowhere, South Dakota.

He’s about a day’s walk from the nearest city, and since he doesn’t have a car he figures he’s just going to have to get walking.

Keeping the phone, he sets off towards Sioux Falls.


	10. 10

Through some blind luck, Emmanuel manages to hitch a ride about five minutes into his walk. (Which is good, because Sam would probably have caught him and he didn’t think he could fight Sam.) The man in the car is friendly, and agrees to drop him off in town, saying he’s heading that way anyways. They pass the time talking about random, irrelevant things and singing along with the radio. The man lets him out outside the police station, and wishes him luck with whatever he was doing.

_That went better than expected._

Then again, Emmanuel thought, even if he had gone and gotten himself kidnapped again, this man looked weaker than Sam and Dean. He’s wiry, skittery, and seems like he’s not all there. He could have handled this man. It’s just good that he didn’t need to.

What has Dean done to him? Was he _expecting_ to be kidnapped?

He looks up at the police station. Maybe he should go talk to somebody. It was as if he was expecting Dean to take him back somehow, and the only way to prevent it would involve the actual law.

Steeling himself, he walks into the building. The receptionist is friendly, if a little distracted. It takes a minute to get her attention.

“I was wondering if I could talk with an officer,” he says. “I just escaped a kidnapper.”

Her mouth drops in shock. “I’ll get the Sheriff right away,” she says.

Not long afterwards, he’s brought into a room. There’s a woman sitting at a table, and she motions to the other chair.

“You want to tell me what happened?” she asks.

“Two men kidnapped me from a bar and held me in their home for – I don’t even know. A week? Two weeks? I managed to escape when one of them was out and the other let their guard down.”

“Do you know anything about the men?”

“Older was named Dean.”

The Sheriff’s eyes widen, but Emmanuel tries not to notice.

“Tall, light brown hair, bright green eyes, buff. Covered in scars.”

She’s nodding uncomfortably.

“The other one was called Sam.”

Now she’s looking flat-out scared.

“I know who you’re talking about,” she says nervously. “Two high-profile serial killers. The Winchesters. I just need to make a few calls and then I’ll hear the rest of your story.”

She leaves the room, looking even more panicked. Emmanuel is confused. Serial killers? But then he realises that some of the monsters they hunted looked human. _Like me._ So police probably knew about them and were nervous to finally get a lead.

The Sheriff comes back in then. “If you have a lead on the Winchesters, that could help us catch them. We’re going to take you to State to talk to some people who’ve been working on them for a few years.”

Emmanuel is taken to a squad car. He heads to the front, but she stops him. “Sorry, buddy. Rules are rules. Backseat.”

He gets into the back, now feeling uncomfortable. There are no door handles on the inside.

About half an hour in, he’s starting to feel even more uncomfortable. He knows the highway only goes in two directions, but it would still be nice if he wasn’t speeding back towards the cabin.

When she turns off the highway, that’s when he starts to panic.

“What are you doing?”

“I had a talk with Sam and Dean. This is me taking you back where you belong.”

Emmanuel would attack her and try to escape again, but there’s a barrier between them.

“Dean tortured me,” Emmanuel says. “ _Please._ ”

“I trust their judgement. They’ve saved my life. And if you managed to get the slip on them, you’re scarier than you look.”

“I love how the fact that I escaped proves that I deserve to be locked up.”

She actually smiles then. “Yeah, a real catch-22, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re here now,” she says. They’re still a bit of a walk from the cabin, but this is as far as the car will go. “They’ll be out in a minute to bring you in.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he pleads.

“If Dean thought he had to torture you? I doubt that.”

“You’re back to the if-I’m-there-I-by-definition-deserve-to-be logic again.”

“I trust Sam and Dean. They know what they’re doing.” She says this simply, as if it is an immutable fact of life.

Dean shows up then, with Sam not far behind. He’s got a gun aimed straight at Emmanuel. Emmanuel slides to the other side of the car to get away. Suddenly that door opens and Sam grabs both of his wrists, snapping cuffs on.

_A decoy._

Emmanuel’s a little bit impressed.

“So, what is he?” the Sheriff asks conversationally.

“An angel.”

“Those are a thing?”

“Too many things are things,” Sam replies. “He caused a lot of problems and we don’t want him to hurt anybody else.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Sentiment”, snarls Dean. “The idea that he could be fixed.” The venom in these words eats at Emmanuel, even now, even back as their prisoner.

Sam thanks the Sheriff, and hoists Emmanuel up over his shoulder again.

He’s being brought down to the basement, and is steeling himself for a return to his chair when he sees something even worse. Dean sees his eyes widen. “Like it, angel? It’s your new home.”

Bolted into the basement is a St. Andrew’s cross.

Two minutes later, bolted into the cross is one unfortunate angel.

“I was being too nice,” Dean says. “I forgot. You’re not Cas. I figured I should remind you.”


	11. 11

Emmanuel is more scared than he has ever been in his entire life. Sam is trying to argue with Dean, trying to talk him out of it, but it’s half-hearted at best. Soon Sam is heading upstairs, muttering something about “not being able to hear this”.

Dean picks up a knife. He traces it over Emmanuel’s (Sam’s?) shirt.

“Don’t move,” Dean says. Emmanuel doesn’t. Dean slices the shirt off cleanly, not even nicking Emmanuel. He does the same with Emmanuel’s pants. Emmanuel doesn’t understand why Dean is trying so hard not to hurt him accidentally. It’s not like being nicked with the knife will make this any worse.

He’s completely immobile and helpless, stretched out in front of Dean.

Emmanuel is tensing himself for a repeat of the last performance, of being carved into until he screamed.

What he’s definitely _not_ expecting is for Dean to stab him in the heart.

For a second he’s in shock. _Am I dying?_ But then he realises that he’s knitting together, healing around the knife. It’s going to hurt just as much coming out as it did going in. He assumes that’s the point.

He allows himself to think it’s over, that being stabbed is all that’s going to happen to him.

He should have realised that Dean has more than one knife.

The second one cuts _through_ his stomach, pinning him to the cross through the middle.

_How am I not dying? Does Dean know I won’t die? Will I die? Would Dean actually kill me?_

Once again, he thinks it’s over. How many knives can Dean have?

The answer is seventeen.

Partway through, he realises he should stop healing the knife wounds. There’s no point because the knives are still in him. But it’s more of a reflex at this point, and he can’t stop. He feels his energy draining out of him.

He feels like a human pincushion. Whatever powers he had recuperated are completely gone. He couldn’t heal a papercut right now.

“Why don’t you think about what you’ve done,” Dean says mildly, as if he had just given Emmanuel a stern talking-to rather than seventeen knives impaled into his flesh. “I’ll be back eventually to take them out.”

Strangely, Dean seems more disappointed than angry right now. Still, if disappointed-Dean is stabby and angry-Dean is carvy, disappointment isn’t an improvement. He needs happy-Dean or laughing-Dean or confused-Dean and he’s starting to feel a little confused and dizzy himself.

“Water,” he croaks.

Dean looks absolutely shocked. Probably because Emmanuel has never wanted food or drink before.

“No.”

There’s an implied message of “this is what happens if you try to run”, and Emmanuel understands completely. And Dean is gone. Emmanuel is left to focus on the dulling ache of his wounds, trying to keep still to avoid reopening them. It hurts less than the last beating Dean gave him, but he knows it’s not even half over.

Eventually he hears Dean come down the stairs.

“I really don’t want to have to do this, you know,” he says, in the same mild tone. “Don’t run again.”

Then he yanks out every single knife.

Emmanuel should be bleeding out. Should be dying right now. But for some reason he isn’t.

It takes hours, but eventually Emmanuel has healed. He notes with satisfaction that he doesn’t need water anymore.

He hangs on the cross – missing his bed – and tries to count seconds until he falls asleep, but this time it takes hours.


	12. 12

Emmanuel is giving plenty of time to think about what he’s done. Nobody comes for him for three days, during which he gets more and more lonely and sore. Escape is clearly not going to happen again. During that time, he comes to a few realisations.

First and most importantly, this has all been his fault. He agreed to be here, he was warming towards Dean, and then he chained Dean to a bed and ran away. No wonder Dean had been upset. He had broken his deal. He had made Dean do it.

Secondly, he deserves whatever happens to him. He wronged Dean, and Dean wronged him in return. But he started it, it was his fault, so punishment is what he gets. Dean cares for him. He shouldn’t have upset Dean in the first place.

Thirdly, he won’t let this happen again. He wants to watch the second _Back to the Future_ movie, not bleed out in chains. He wants Dean to be laughing and happy, not angry.

Fourthly, it’s all because of him. When Dean is angry, it is because Emmanuel has been bad. When Dean is laughing, it’s because Emmanuel has been funny. That means all he has to do is _not be bad_.

And so Emmanuel strengthens his resolve. Being in this basement was his choice, and he can stick it through. For Dean’s sake.

And with this in mind, he calls out timidly, using his voice for the first time in two days. “Dean?”

This time, Dean makes him wait. It’s half an hour later that he comes downstairs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I won’t make you do that again. I’ll stay.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t exactly believe you right now.”

Dean leaves then, and doesn’t come back until the next day.

In the meantime, Sam comes downstairs. He looks at Emmanuel guiltily.

“I just wanted to say – this isn’t right. I tried to stop him. You can guess how that went. It’s just – well – you don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.”

Emmanuel is confused. “Of course I deserve this. I ran. Dean is upset with me.”

Sam’s face twists.

“Nobody deserves this. No matter who they are, what they’ve done.”

“I was a monster. You said so yourself.”

Emmanuel is proud of himself. If this is Dean testing him, seeing if he’ll run again, he must be passing. He won’t run.

“Jesus, Cas. The way he’s treating you – ”

Emmanuel ignores the name.

“What way? He’s only punishing me when I’m bad,” Emmanuel replies simply.

Sam just looks disgusted.

Dean comes downstairs then, protectively getting in between Emmanuel and Sam.

“I hope you’re happy, Dean. You broke him,” Sam says.

Emmanuel is confused again. He isn’t broken. He’s finally fixed. He understands that everything he has ever done has been wrong, has hurt Dean, and now he can finally stop. He will never do anything to make Dean unhappy again – or at least he’ll do his best.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave. Find a Leviathan and hack its head off.”

“Fine,” Sam says angrily. “I’m taking the Impala. Hope you don’t need supplies.”

“Of course not. Because you went on a goddamn _supply run_ and angel boy here ran!”

Emmanuel’s gut wrenches. Dean is still mad.

Sam storms out, but Dean stays. “Hope you’re happy, angel. You forced Sam out.”

Emmanuel has two conflicting thoughts.

 _Actually, Sam just said that_ you _did._

_I’m so sorry. I’ve been bad, haven’t I?_

But he knows the answer now.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says. He feels and looks like he’s going to cry.

Dean’s eyes soften. “I think you’ve learned your lesson. I’m going to take you back to the bed now.”

He unchains Emmanuel and half-carries him over to the bed. Emmanuel stretches out his arms and legs to the corners of the bed.

Dean smiles. “Good angel.”

Emmanuel’s heart just about melts. Dean’s not mad anymore. Emmanuel did the right thing.

He’s chained in place, but it’s on a bed now and it’s really not so bad.

Maybe tomorrow, Dean will let him watch the movie.


	13. 13

Emmanuel thought he wouldn’t even notice Sam being gone – Sam doesn’t come downstairs very often – but now that Dean has nothing else to do, he’s visiting Emmanuel more and more frequently.

After a few days of this, Dean comes downstairs looking purposeful.

“I had an idea of something I want to test,” Dean says.

Emmanuel nods.

“We’re going to try a – a sigil again.”

Emmanuel nods again.

Dean unchains him, all four sides, and he flips over, leaving his wrists and ankles at the corner of the bed. He can see briefly that Dean is smiling, probably out of hope that the sigil will work. Dean puts the chains back on gently.

“Do you want something to bite down on?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Emmanuel replies.

True to his word, as Dean carves, he doesn’t make a sound.

When he reaches for the sigil, he’s confused for a second. The shape feels exactly the same as the last one. They already tried that, and it failed.

_It must be a variant._

Unfortunately, this one fails too. He heals, feeling his energy sap away. Maybe it’s his long stay in the basement, but he could swear he has less of it than he did a month ago.

“Water. Please.”

This time, Dean gets him the water.

“You were good, angel,” Dean says.

It’s a very awkward position, but he uses his free hand to drink.

“You’re starting to look sick. You could probably use some air,” Dean says, parroting the concerns Emmanuel has been having.

He takes the chains off – for the second time that day, a new record – and stashes them in his jacket.

Emmanuel doesn’t dare to move. The cuffs will be back on in a minute. He doesn’t want to upset Dean with an escape attempt.

“Up,” Dean says.

So he gets up, swaying unsteadily. Dean leads him up the stairs and out of the cabin. He vaguely realises that he’s naked, but he knows there’s nobody here but him and Dean.

It’s beautiful out, warm with a gentle breeze, and birds are chirping. He’s surrounded by nature after another week in the basement – and it’s overwhelming.

A small part of him realises that he’s naked in the woods with Dean, and laughs, because he was like that with Daphne too. Daphne saved him then, and Dean is saving him now.

At some point, Dean mentions that he’s got to phone Sam, he’ll be back out in a minute. He doesn’t bother restraining Emmanuel in any way. Emmanuel thinks he must have finally forgotten.

Part of him is screaming to run, to get deep enough into the woods that even Dean can’t find him.

But Emmanuel realises that even if he wanted to run (he doesn’t), he couldn’t. He ran, and he was sent back, and Dean was forced to hurt him. If he runs again, Dean will drag him back and he’ll be hurt again.

The part of him that wants to run shrivels up and dies.

So when Dean comes back out, he’s still there. He hasn’t moved an inch.

“You were good, angel,” Dean says, smiling. “It’s time to go back in.”

He doesn’t protest as he’s returned to the bed, as the shackles are replaced, as Dean goes away and he’s left to count the seconds again.

He’s content just to see Dean’s smile and know that it’s because of him.


	14. 14

Dean is being nicer, now. In the mornings, they try fixes. None of them work. Dean keeps on going back to that same sigil, altering it to see if it will help. (It never does. And it leaves Emmanuel drained and exhausted every time.) It's miserable, but it's with Dean, so it's not so bad. Then Dean gets Emmanuel some water and goes away for a while to let him rest. After a few hours, he comes back with a movie or a board game and they spend the rest of the afternoon together.

Emmanuel's been behaving himself, so Dean hasn't had to hurt him ever since that day on the cross. (Emmanuel is incredibly proud of himself. After everything he's screwed up, at least he can get this one thing right.)

One night, Dean actually asks him which movie he wants to watch. He picks _The Princess Bride_ because apparently it's funny and a classic.

He snuggles into Dean during the movie, enjoying the warmth of a person beside him. Enjoying that Dean is the person beside him.

When it's over, Dean gets up and motions for him to put his wrist and ankle back in place.

"As you wish," Emmanuel replies.

Dean laughs.

When Dean bends down to get his wrist, Emmanuel impulsively twists up and kisses him.

Dean kisses back, and it's so much better than last time, until Emmanuel can't breathe and has to let go and fall back into his pillow.

The look on Dean's face is a combination of shock and bliss. It is by far Emmanuel's favourite look.

Dean goes upstairs, still with a blissed-out look on his face. He promises that he'll be back - and if the Princess Bride makes Emmanuel do that, he'll bring the fucking Notebook next.

Emmanuel thinks back to the question he had, on his very first day here.

_Pain or sex?_

_Sex. Now. Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've sort of reached a block in where this is going. If anybody has any ideas, PLEASE share them.


	15. 15

Unfortunately for Emmanuel, good things can't last forever. When Dean comes downstairs he's in a foul mood.

"Do you know what just happened?" he asks angrily.

Emmanuel shakes his head slowly. He's got no idea.

" _Sam_ ," Dean growls.

Emmanuel doesn't know where Dean is going with this, so he doesn't say anything.

"He's in the hospital. He crashed – badly. He's not sleeping, he's in a psych ward, Lucifer is trying to kill him."

Dean's eyes are flashing again, in a way oddly reminiscent of how they were when they first met. He looks like he wants to kill somebody. The seconds pass, and Emmanuel realises he has to say something before Dean snaps.

"I thought Lucifer was a hallucination?" Emmanuel asks timidly. A mistake.

"Well, _I don't goddamn know_ , because I didn't shove it into his head!"

"Is he going to be all right?"

The anger fades now, into sadness and pleading. It's really, _really_ not the time, but Emmanuel notes that pleading is a good look and adds it to his collection.

"I can't – I don't know how to help him. You're our only hope. You're _my_ only hope, Cas."

Emmanuel thinks about correcting the misused name, but honestly he knows that Dean needs Castiel right now.

"I don't know what to do either," Emmanuel admits. "I don't remember anything."

"Well, I need you to try."

"What can I do? I'm chained to a bed in South Dakota, and Sam is..." Emmanuel trails off, realising he doesn't even know where Sam is.

"Northern Indiana  State Hospital. And we're going to go on a little road trip."

Dean lets Emmanuel out of the cuffs, helping him up and off the bed.

"Wait here," he says. "I'll grab some clothing."

He's back with a trench coat, a blue tie, and a suit.

"Was I some sort of holy tax accountant?" Emmanuel asks, suprised.

"I saved it, you know," Dean says. "All this time."

The man who stands before him now is nothing like the man of ten minutes ago, looking like he was about to hurt somebody or worse. His Dean is back, like nothing had ever happened.

Emmanuel puts on the suit, the coat, the tie. They feel oddly right on him, as if he's worn them a hundred times before.

Dean smiles nostalgically at the sight. "A friend's coming to pick us up," he says. "He'll be here in ten."

Emmanuel nods, staring into space.

Suddenly Dean turns him around and looks him straight in the eye. "Hey. Cas."

Emmanuel blinks, confused.

"Thanks for doing this. For being willing to try."

Even more confusing. Why wouldn't he try? Dean asked him to, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update - I just had no idea where this is going. I think I have it mostly figured out now, but suggestions are welcome/wanted.


	16. 16

A car drives up to the cabin, sputtering and coughing on the uneven ground.

Emmanuel freezes. Panics. _No._

It's the car, the car with the nice driver that let him off in Sioux Falls. The one who dropped him off at the police station, practically handed him over to the cop who brought him back.

Was everything a setup? Was everything a trap?

He blinks, as if coming out of a daze. Dean kidnapped him. Dean... let him run? To bring him back? That doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense.

"Hey, Garth," Dean says, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. Emmanuel can hear the panic in his voice.

Again, Emmanuel feels split in two. One part of him wants to help Dean, to comfort him. The other part is betrayed.

"You...?" Emmanuel asks uncertainly.

Garth pales noticeably.

"Dean, why is the abused hitchhiker I took to the police station back where I got him from?"

"Look, it's a really long story. I'll tell you, I swear, once Sammy's okay."

Garth looks sceptical, but nods.

"Are you the one that hurt him or the one that put him back together?"

"Dammit, Garth, later," Dean huffs.

"Both," Emmanuel says with a bit of a squeak.

Garth gives Dean a look, the kind that says "we need to have a _long_ talk about this later".

Dean seems to completely ignore it.

He opens the door for Emmanuel, gesturing to the backseat. Reluctantly, Emmanuel sits down.

"Am I gonna need to chain you to the door, or will you be good?"

And suddenly he feels as if he's moving backwards. Weren't they past this? Didn't he stop trying to run, didn't Dean stop needing to chain him? Why is Dean even bringing him if Dean thinks he'll try to escape? Doesn't Dean trust him?

His two halves are screaming for attention.

_He tricked you. He hurt you._

_He cared for me. He saved me._

_He keeps you chained like a dog._

_He needs me._

Garth doesn't seem to have realised who he picked up that day. That means not-a-trap. That means he couldn't have known that delivering him to Jody would only get him sent straight back. That means that Dean couldn't have done this, couldn't have been playing mind games this whole time.

And with that, Emmanuel decides, though he's sure that he already knew, that it wasn't even a choice anymore.

"Good," Emmanuel replies.

Dean nods, heads over to the front seat.

The drive is full of blaring rock music as Garth relinquishes control of the radio. Thankfully, nobody talks. Emmanuel just wants to be alone in his head right now.

They stop for food twice, in seedy diners along the route. Dean lets Emmanuel come in, lets him choose his food. It's almost as if he was free. The illusion is shattered, however, when he asks to visit the bathroom.

"Hope you don't mind an escort, angel," Dean says.

And Emmanuel is frustrated, because they've been over this, _he won't run, he won't go, he needs to be with Dean_ , but Dean just doesn't understand.

So he nods, and Dean follows him, and despite being naked for weeks and chained to the bed in the basement, this is when he truly feels embarrassed.

On the way out, some random trucker shoots Dean a thumbs-up. Dean turns bright red and hurries them back to the table.

When they finally get to Indiana, it's past midnight.

"You're not going after Sam until you've slept," Garth says.

Dean starts to argue, but Garth just waves the car keys.

"I am driving to a motel, where I am getting us two rooms. If you don't want yours, you can hitchhike the rest of the way."

Dean looks like he wants to say something, but gives up.

"Motel it is."


	17. 17

The room has a king sized bed. Specifically, one king sized bed.

Dean's face flashes a hundred different things, finally settling on annoyance.

"Sorry, Dean. It's all they had," Garth says.

Dean eventually shrugs. "Not my problem. I'm not the one who's sleeping on the floor."

Emmanuel would be upset, but he expected as much after the stunt in the diner.

He grabs a pillow off the bed, lies down at its foot. Dean smirks oddly.

"Can't leave you like that all night, angel. You might run. So as much as I like you over there, that won't cut it."

And so Emmanuel is relocated to right beside the radiator and handcuffed to it. Apparently this is where Dean likes to store people he doesn't want running.

Sleep comes easily, considering how uncomfortable the position is.

In the morning, Emmanuel wakes up to Dean hovering over his face.

"Rise and shine, angel."

He's stiff and sore from his night on the floor, but Dean doesn't seem to notice or care. Honestly, it's a little disappointing. He misses Dean's massages. Maybe, just maybe, if he fixes Sam they can come back and things can go back to when they were happy.

They head over to the hospital, Dean charming his way in with some quick words and forged ID. He seems not to notice or care that Emmanuel is perfectly capable of running away or calling for help in the middle of a crowded hospital. (Obviously, Emmanuel doesn't.)

When they get to Sam, a demon is busy electrocuting him.

"This would be a really good time for you to remember how to smite, Cas," Dean says.

Emmanuel tries. He really does. But he has no idea what smiting his or how to do it.

"I – I can't, Dean. I'm sorry," he says.

Dean swears. He pulls out a knife and heads for the demon, who quickly disappears into black smoke.

"Can you heal him, at least?"

Emmanuel puts his hand on Sam's forehead, but nothing happens.

"It's not working."

"Well, we're taking him back to the room with us. Maybe it'll work if you try a bit harder."

Dean sounds desperate. He hauls Sam over his shoulder, ushering Emmanuel to join him in making a break for it.

They make it to Garth's car with orderlies chasing after them, zooming away towards the motel room.

When they get there, Sam is dragged onto the bed, and Emmanuel is ordered to heal him.

He tries.

"Try harder, you son of a bitch!"

He tries harder.

"What the fuck is an angel even good for if they can't heal my brother?"

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Emmanuel says.

"Not as sorry as you will be," Dean replies.

Dean punches him, and the world goes black.


	18. 18

Emmanuel wakes up slowly, woozily. He's curled up in the corner of the room, awkwardly smashed into the wall. No room to back away. He feels like he's been hit by a truck. Dean's face is inches from his, glaring angrily.

"Sorry – I'm so sorry," Emmanuel spits out, tripping over his words.

"Sammy needs you," Dean says. "Sammy needs you and you can't follow through. What's the point of having a pet angel if he can't even heal?"

"I don't know," Emmanuel admits, his head hanging. "I'm useless. I'm sorry."

"My brother is dying. My brother is dying and you can't even do anything!"

Emmanuel curls up into himself. He figures Dean is probably about to stab him or whip him or carve into him as punishment. As much as he deserves it, as much as he needs it to prove to Dean that he can be good, he still doesn't want to.

"Turn around. Hands on the wall."

So he was right. Well, he can take this. He's earned it so he can handle it.

Gingerly, Emmanuel turns to face the wall, leaving Dean to do God-knows-what behind him.

He feels the tip of a knife on his back, slicing through his shirt.

 _"That had buttons, you know,"_ an echo says. Emmanuel, of course, says nothing.

The knife slides lower, making quick work of his pants and boxers.

"If you won't be useful properly, I just need to find another way," Dean snarls.

Emmanuel tenses for the knife, but it doesn't come.

He sees Dean get up in his peripheral vision, walk away to go rifle through his bag. He doesn't dare get up, just stays on the floor.

He's honestly never felt more exposed in his life.

And Dean is back, container in hand. Not knife.

 _Not like this not like this not like this_ , a voice says inside him.

Emmanuel has gotten _very_ good at ignoring that voice.

He tries to relax – it'll hurt less – but Dean is rough. Emmanuel is a little bit surprised that he even bothered with lube, and tries to appreciate how much worse it could be. It doesn't help. Eventually he just retreats into himself and waits for Dean to be done.

After an eternity, after an age, after honestly probably only five minutes, Dean comes.

"See? Not useless."

Emmanuel just curls back into the corner, covered in sweat and blood and cum and the tattered rags of clothing, and cries.

_This is what Dean needs. I can do this for him. He needs me._

But none of that makes him feel any better.

Dean is on the phone with Garth, talking to him as if nothing happened, as if today was an ordinary day in the Winchester household.

Neither of them make any mention of Sam, lying semi-conscious on the bed.


	19. 19

The days, once again, slip into a sick sort of routine.

Emmanuel tries to heal Sam. It doesn't work.

Dean tries to find a solution. There is none.

Dean takes out his frustration on Emmanuel. Emmanuel breaks down into himself and cries. He sleeps on the floor, chained to the radiator. He stays there until Dean lets him up.

Garth makes vague references to Emmanuel's treatment not being fair, and Dean ignores him. Garth mentions that Dean has killed others for less than what he's done to Emmanuel, and Dean kicks Garth out.

Sam deteriorates.

As the days go on, with no sign of progress, Dean gets rougher and angrier. Emmanuel has bruises. Emmanuel has cuts. Emmanuel has scars. The lube runs out and Dean doesn't even bother replacing it.

Sam is in some strange fugue state where he is unaware of the world around him but cannot fall unconscious. It's been a week. According to Garth, Sam won't last much longer. According to Dean, Sam will be fine if Emmanuel can just get his act together.

Emmanuel feels guiltier than he has ever felt. He knows that if he could just heal Sam, this whole thing would be over. Dean would be happy, Sam would be awake, and life could go back to the way it was before. They could watch movies together. Maybe Dean would even stop with the chains. ( _He would never_ , the little voice says. _He likes them too much._ )

And, eventually, something snaps.

Emmanuel has failed to heal Sam yet again. Dean is advancing towards him with that same jet-black anger in his eyes. Emmanuel is sore, and tired, and still covered in the remains of yesterday.

"How do you expect me to ever heal your brother, if you weaken me every day?" Emmanuel screams. "If I can't even fix my own body anymore, what makes you think I can fix Sam?"

"You _ungrateful_ –"

And Dean lunges, pinning him to the floor. He drags Emmanuel's hands above his head, chains them together. Emmanuel's breathing cuts off and he struggles for air.

"You're useless at healing Sam. Now you're complaining about having sex. I'm the one who feeds you and bathes you and takes care of you. What's the point of even keeping you around?"

Emmanuel is horrifically confused. Dean's the one who causes him to need food. And he wouldn't even be around if Dean hadn't kidnapped him.

"Don't you love me, Cas?"

Emmanuel nods frantically. Is this the issue? Dean thinks he doesn't love him? No. He just thinks that the best way to heal Sam is by regaining his healing capabilities. That's not unreasonable, is it?

"Then _stop complaining._ "

This time it's even worse. But, as ever, Emmanuel puts up with it. For Dean.

When it's over, though, he makes one final stand. He staggers over to the bed, lies down on the comfortable sheets next to Sam, and glares at Dean, daring him to kick him out.

He feels a tiny glimmer of hope when Dean doesn't.


	20. 20

Sam dies that night.

Dean growls at Emmanuel, lunges towards him – and stops.

He breaks down crying on the bed.

"Not you too – first Cas, now you," Dean chokes.

Emmanuel slides over to Dean, hugs him tightly. Maybe Dean will get mad, hurt him, but Dean is hurting right now and needs comfort. That's the most important thing.

Dean relaxes into him, and the two men lie sobbing on the bed for hours.

They head out, start a fire. "Hunters' burial," Dean says. And the body isn't a body anymore, but just ashes.

Emmanuel feels better as the day goes on – normally Dean would have hurt him by now, but he's getting a rare chance to recover. This is good – it makes what he wants to do next possible. He takes two fingers and places them on Dean's forehead. Dean nods gratefully. "Sleep," he says.

Whatever shell Dean has built up has totally shattered. Right now, he's weak, vulnerable, hurting. Broken. Emmanuel aches for him to be put back together. _He'll just hurt you again_ , the voice says. Emmanuel doesn't deny it. But Dean is worth it.

Emmanuel grabs some money from Dean's wallet. Goes out, gets food. Watches over Dean as he sleeps.

When Dean wakes up, Emmanuel feeds him gently. He helps Dean through his shower. But Dean breaks down again. "Make me sleep again, Cas."

Emmanuel does.

For the next few days, Dean doesn't do much else than eat and sleep. But then one night, as he reaches towards Dean to put him to sleep, Dean stops him. "Can you stay tonight?" he asks.

Emmanuel can't say no.

He lies down beside Dean. He feels Dean's breathing even out, senses Dean fall asleep naturally. He stays.

The next morning, Dean looks better. "I can't stay here anymore," he says. "We're going back to the cabin."

Emmanuel nods.

Dean hot-wires a car, drives them back to the cabin straight through the day and night. He makes no mention of chains or ties or making Emmanuel stay.

He starts towards the basement, but Dean stops him. "I need you to stay. You're the only person I have left."

And so he heads up to Dean's bed, spends the night in Dean's arms.

If only he were there because Dean wanted him – this would almost be happiness.

 

Things get better, from there. Dean becomes kinder. There are no chains, no punishments. Dean doesn't take him again. But then one day, out of the blue, Dean tells him to leave.

"What?" Emmanuel asks. He's sure he's misheard. "I haven't done anything wrong! I've been good!"

And Dean nods. "Look at what I've done to you. You need to go so I don't do it again."

Emmanuel is confused. "I love you. I need to stay with you."

"Don't you _see_ , Cas? I've hurt you."

"I'm not Cas," Emmanuel replies. "I'm not Cas, and I want to stay."

Dean thinks for a minute.

"Well, I thought I'd lie, to keep your feelings from getting hurt. But the truth is, you're useless, you can't do anything right, and seeing you after what you did to Sam makes me want to puke. So GET OUT!"

The rage is back, worse than ever. Dean is snarling, advancing on Emmanuel.

Emmanuel stands, shell-shocked.

Dean doesn't want him?

He's useless?

He makes Dean _sick_?

He staggers out towards the door, numb.

What is there to do anymore?


	21. 21

Emmanuel hitches a ride back into the city. He knows exactly what he needs to do, but he can't deny his nervousness as he walks up towards the police station.

He heads up to the receptionist – a different one this time, luckily – and asks for the Sheriff with short brown hair.

A few minutes later, Emmanuel is being urged into an office. He doesn't even give her a chance to speak.

"Sam is dead. Dean needs help."

She looks like she wants to ask a thousand questions, but thankfully doesn't. She nods. "Same cabin?"

"Yes."

This time she lets him sit in the front seat. This time the door doesn't have child locks on and he could jump out if he wanted to. He's never wanted anything less in his life. (Admittedly, he still can't remember more than about six months of it.)

After half an hour of silence, the Sheriff finally speaks. "What kind of help?"

"I don't know," Emmanuel admits. "He's just... broken. And he doesn't want me anymore."

"Generally, a kidnapper not wanting their prisoner anymore and letting them go is a good thing," the Sheriff says.

"He's not my kidnapper anymore. He's just Dean."

Thankfully, they return to silence for the rest of the ride.

By the time they make it back to the cabin, Emmanuel has only been gone for eight or so hours. Not even a full day. But they can hear crashing and smashing from within.

Emmanuel knocks on the door.

"Did you really expect that to work?" the Sheriff asks.

Emmanuel shakes his head.

She busts down the door, puts a hand on her gun, and heads in.

It's a mess. The entire place has been completely trashed. Glass and wood chips litter the floor, along with the remains of whatever unfortunate things happened to be in the room at the time.

Dean is in the basement. He's hurling knives at the cross. Seventeen knives impaled in the wood, pulling them out, seventeen knives thrown. Clean hits every time.

"Dean," Emmanuel says. Dean doesn't hear ( _ignores?_ ) him.

He starts to head down the stairs. The Sheriff tries to stop him, but he shrugs her off and keeps going.

Dean doesn't see him.

_What's an angel even good for?_

Emmanuel does the only thing he can think of. He walks in front of the blade.

It hurts – it hurts a lot. He falls to the ground gasping. But it works. Dean shakes his head, as if leaving a trance, and hurries over to him. There's an anguished look on his face, which Emmanuel welcomes gladly over the blank stare it replaced.

"What the hell did you do that for? Are you okay?"

"I am now," he says. The skin knits together painfully, good as new.

"Dean, you have to stop this," the Sheriff says.

"Jody?" Dean asks. "Is this an intervention or something?"

"Sure, let's call it that. Up."

So Dean staggers up.

Dean and Emmanuel drag each other up the stairs, collapsing on a couch in the main room.

"I don't know what the hell's gotten into you, but you do _not_ hurt people. And I've seen you self-destructive before, but you've never taken it out on the furniture."

Jody sounds like she's his mother scolding him. Clearly Dean feels the same way, as he gulps nervously.

"Sorry," Dean mutters.

"What were you _thinking?_ "

"Sammy is dead. Cas was dead. I found him. I broke him. There's nobody left."

"There's nobody left because _you sent me away_!" Emmanuel cries, frustrated. "You said I was useless and you sent me away! Why?"

"Didn't want to hurt you again. Couldn't hurt you again. Not Cas. Never Cas."

Emmanuel pulls Dean close, hugs him tight. Dean sinks into it.

"You can hurt me if you need to. I'll be okay."

Jody's eyebrows go so high they look like they'll escape her forehead altogether.

"He can _what_ now?"

"I'm an angel. I heal. If he wants to hurt me, it's the least I can do for him."

"He can do no such thing," Jody replies. "Dean, if I hear you've been hurting this poor man again I'll head back here and hurt _you_."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean mutters.

"Now, you two need to talk. And I am going to sit here and make sure it happens without anybody hurting each other."


	22. 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally happy sex!
> 
> That said, I have no idea how to write a sex scene. If something went horrifically wrong, please let me know so I can fix it.

"I've lost them both," Dean says. "I break everything I touch. I killed Sam, and I broke Cas, and I don't want to break the broken shell I turned him into."

"Moping isn't going to get you anywhere," Jody says. "Let's start with you killing Sam. This is your fault _how_ exactly?"

"Cas coulda healed him. If Cas had any energy. If I wasn't purposely draining him so he wouldn't go away and hurting him cause I wanted something to hurt."

Could Emmanuel have healed Sam, in a better world? Maybe. But maybe not. So Dean shouldn't act like he killed his brother.

"Not your fault, Dean. I tried to heal him. I couldn't."

"You'd been weak for weeks ever since I started carving my name into your back!"

Emmanuel blinks. Startled. Confused. That couldn't possibly mean what he thought it meant, could it?

Jody punches Dean.

"I did not know I had that in me," she says.

"You _what?_ " Emmanuel asks.

"The sigil. Figured it was as good an excuse as any. Didn't want you running. Wanted you to be mine. To stay."

"There was no sigil?" Emmanuel questions slowly.

"God, no. Angels with amnesia? That's not even possible. Can't believe you fell for that one." Dean briefly chuckles, but then quickly smoothes out his face.

But then Emmanuel latches on to the infinitely more important part of that sentence. He can forgive a hundred lies, a thousand lies, Dean's name carved into his skin until there is no skin left – Dean wants Emmanuel to be _his_. He's done good.

"Yours," Emmanuel says. "Always, forever yours. You didn't have to carve me."

He snuggles into Dean, who tenses up frantically.

"Don't you get it? You – you were completely different! You wanted to go, you ran, you were independent! And then I hurt you until you weren't him anymore!"

Emmanuel thinks about that. Yes, it's true. He hasn't been the man he was with Daphne in quite some time now. Honestly, he's been Cas ever since the second he realised he belonged to Dean.

"I'm happy with you. You're happy with me. Why does it matter how we got here? I forgive you, Dean. You said I would, a while ago, and you were right. Always right. We can be happy together."

Jody looks visibly sick. "Dean, just so you know, I have been a cop for years and this is the most disturbing thing I have ever seen. I am seriously impressed, and I don't mean that in a good way."

"I know," Dean says. "I don't know – Sam is gone, Cas is gone – I ruined everything,"

"I'm _right here_ , Dean," Cas says. "And I'm not going anywhere. So I'm not the angel you fell in love with, or the man I was when you took me here. But I'm here now, and I love you."

Cas reaches out towards Dean, cups his jaw. "I love you."

He kisses Dean. Dean starts out stiff and unyielding, but gradually responds, kissing back with a fervour that leaves Cas breathless.

"I love you," Cas says again. "No matter what you did. No matter what you're going to do. No matter what. You are my life now. You are my everything."

And suddenly he's pushed down into the couch and Dean is on top of him. For the third time in as many months his shirt is ripped open, buttons flying. He feels warm, calloused hands on his chest, pinching and twisting his nipples. He needs more.

Sometime around then, Jody slips out. Hopefully before, for her sake.

Dean moves his hands away, and Cas whines – but they're heading for his belt, which is quite possibly the most evil thing in the universe right now because _Dean is fumbling with it_ and he just wants Dean's hands back on him.

Dean finally gets the belt off, pulls down Cas' pants. Cas tries to turn around, present his ass, but Dean stops him. "This time, we're doing it right."

And then Dean's hand is on his dick.

His brain quite possibly shuts down for a few seconds.

"More – god, yes – Dean, please!" he whines.

"Patience, Cas," Dean laughs. "I said we're going to do it right."

Dean leans down, licks a stripe down Cas' dick. Teases the head. And then, suddenly, takes the entire thing down his throat. If Cas' brain shut down for a few seconds before, it was nothing compared to this. There is nothing in the world but Dean's mouth.

Cas comes far too soon. He doesn't want this to ever end.

Thankfully, it doesn't.

Dean finally flips him over, and gently opens him up with one lubed finger.

" _Dean_ ," Cas groans. "More!"

"Do you _want_ me to gag you? You're – making – it – hard – to – be – patient," Dean grunts.

Cas' dick takes note of that suggestion for later.

One finger becomes two, and two three, before Dean finally starts fucking him.

It's not at all like it was in the motel room. It's gentler, sweeter. Somehow kinder. More importantly, it feels _fantastic_.

Dean lasts for a good ten minutes, which Cas can easily say was the best ten minutes of his life.

"We need to do that more often," Cas says.

"Next time, on a bed," Dean replies. "I'm not a teenager anymore."

That night, they lie together in Dean's bed for the first time.

"You know the best thing about hedonism?" Dean asks.

"How fucking amazing it feels?" Cas responds.

"Magical healing cock. Cures all that ails you."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yeah, why not," Dean replies contentedly.


End file.
